


The Feud Known as Camaderie

by TheTacticianMagician



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 20th Century, Blood Drinking, F/M, Hetalia Kink Meme, Kink Meme, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Roughness, Soviet Era, Threats, human names used as well, it's a bit more dub-con than outright rape, mild violence, multiple pairings implied - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 18:12:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4402145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTacticianMagician/pseuds/TheTacticianMagician
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Russia threatens Hungary and Romania into having sex to "better" their relations whilst underneath the Iron Curtain. Written for the Hetalia Kink Meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Feud Known as Camaderie

**Author's Note:**

> The request was:  
>   
>  **Hungary/Romania: noncon/dubcon**  
>  So Russia wants Romania and Hungary to get along. And they seem obstinately opposed to this.  
> Cue Russia drugging and tying down Romania and instructing Hungary to have sex with him, with implications of nasty consequences should she refuse.  
> Bonus: Romania begs her not to.  
> Bonus 2: They end up less hateful towards each other afterwards.  
> Bonus 3: Extra scene with cleanup.   
> :-:-:-:-:-:
> 
> I wrote it a while ago and completely forgot about it even though it's one of the most cohesive and well-worded things I've ever written? Well, here's the kink meme link.  
> http://hetalia-kink.dreamwidth.org/82590.html?thread=510493854#cmt510493854

Russia has a small notebook. It smells faintly of metal. There are names written all over it, scrabbled, mudded over, some decade-old, unreadable. None of these people whose names are written there are alive anymore.

Said book belongs more to the high governamental circle, and Stalin used to get his hands on it very often, but still.

The large Slav was told to get a new one, leave this crumbling little object to the confidential archives. He did so. But he has other ideas for the new notebook.

Romania has glanced at it once. A few names, but _their_ names, _Estoniya, Latviya, Litva, Polscha, Ukraina, Belorussiya, Tsekhiya i Slovakiya_. All of these words risked over with lines. Sharp, beheading lines. He'd swallowed dryly, unable to place the meaning of that.

His name had been there as well. Along with Hungary, Moldova, Bulgaria, Serbia... but they weren't marked over. Though when Russia had come into the castle, their meeting place, while roughly petting his head " _Good dog,_ "... Well, he bit his tongue.

There were many things to be said, especially as they were away from prying eyes and ears. Russia had chosen this old-as-dust castle with the purpose to settle him down, likely. Try to place him in a time period where pain was not as relentless. Away from the cities and their sorry states which would have Romania itching to lunge at his throat.

Hungary was coming too, but she hadn't arrived yet. In the meantime, Ivan richly praised Serban's country for his cooperativeness with communism, pinpricking every little detail that Romania decidedly did not want to hear. And, the worst part, he had to keep his calm and was unable to retort to anything, his words quickly deflected; this man was no Ivan Braginsky, they'd all long decided: he was a Soviet Pawn. 

This was lasting too long for Serban's patience to keep up. Spider-webbed ceiling corners and chipped stone serve little purpose when the communist plans kept crashing reality upon him, over and over again. 

He should've known it was a plan, always is. Should've.

Romania snapped.

Russia was swift to immobilize him, with surprising strength. Soft words were muttered, sentences strung together to try and convince the Romanian that he needed help calming down so they could continue their conversation like proper comrades.  
The "help" seemed to be a sort of wine, Moldovan no less, the reminder of his little brother making his heart ache; and Serban would have tried to smell the thing to check for shady additions if Russia hadn't nearly pushed the mouth of it down his throat within a couple of seconds.

'Course it wasn't just wine.

 

-

 

"I need us to sit down and have a conversation later, because you've been a nasty doggie."

"Well, shit," Hungary huffed pointedly as she and Ivan paced down the corridor, "Tell your government that-" she promptly grit her teeth, knowing threats were not a good move. Then she realized. "Later? Why not now? Isn't it what we came here for?"

"Ye, it is, but the need is not imminent." Ivan's tone seemed to change, but she couldn't know what to, "There is a more pressing matter that needs to be taken care of."

There was a quiet moment of pondering as they walked. Where was Russia leading her? What was the pressing matter? She did say aloud, though: "Where is Romania?"

Ivan hummed, seeming to avoid the question. Elizaveta was about to snarl the question again, the protective edge sharpening her despite the fact she didn't- didn't really like Romania like that, though the Soviet regime worked its sympathetic magic - but the Russian pointed off-handedly towards a door at the end of the corridor, where they were very close by. 

Hungary calmed down, thinking it to be their meeting room of sorts in this castle. Opening the door with much tranquility, Russia beckoned her to go in first. It was dimly lit, smelt like old furniture just like the rest of the-

Fuck.

Fuck.

Screw being calm.

 

Weak, heavy eyelids rose slightly, revealing underneath red irises which did well to complement the exhausted, concerned expression that the throughly tied nation bore. "Ungaria...?"

Romania. There he was, bound to a chair by the arms, legs, thighs, shoulders, looking quite out of it. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were pretty unfocused. Maybe in a distant, distant era, the sight would have shot through her an intense spark of pure pleasure and sadistical want, but now the sentiment was much closer to disgust.

"You know better than I how your people keep up this darned rivalry with Rumyniya's people, nyet? As goes around, they're similarly, and foolishly, hostile. This is not good." Ivan shook his head, as though he spoke of how he saw two toddlers punching each other at kindergarten. "You two aren't much better."

Your point?, she wanted to input, but Romania's state unto itself and the possible reasons behind it were enough to catch the words at her throat.

"A grand alliance such as the Soviet Republic and its European partners should not be hindered by those simple feuds. So you should know what to do. You have to mend that, both of you." He took a step back towards the door, holding its handle, raising his voice. "Hungary, you are to have sex with Romania. No less, and no fighting. He is being quite the obedient dog, I'd say, but you are aggressive for a dog, and you know what they do to dogs who can't cooperate and live with people, don't you?"

The door shut closed, followed by a keylock noise.

_Fucking shit._

Silence reigned as they looked each other down, not quite seeing, thoughts a scramble. 

Well damn. It was really odd to even consider heeding an order of having sex when the other party was unable to even move and, let's face it, Russia had probably drugged him in some way. 

Forcing people into this? How did the Soviets think this would do any good for relations? More time passed on, with Hungary in suspended disbelief. But it was with this dead silence that she noted Romania's soft panting and tiny whine.

She approached him; staying still like a pillar would do them some marvelous good indeed. Especially since Serban could have been tied strongly like that for a while, and if so his muscles were going to cramp easily.

Romania, flushed, inhaled sharply when she got closer, shifting in the chair with fear above everything else. It was then that she noted, not with too much surprise, the bulge that strained against his coat. Russia must have quite the array of drugs. 

"Russia... did that..." Serban grit out to vaporize any other thought she might have, his glare too tired to even represent a true threat. He looked pitiful, and she ignored the fact her heart ached then.

"I know." Elizaveta looked elsewhere, to the small window, which at morning would have brought the room to a full illumination as opposed to the current dim lighting. Man... Sex? Why? Why not handshaking, why not a round of a friendly game? Why _this_ , specifically?

She glanced at him, again. At any other situation, any other moment, she might have slapped him, maybe just for the sake of it, they would have clawed each other, he would nearly tear off her ear with his teeth, call her a dirty-blood with a distasteful expression when he got it on his mouth, she would kick him in the balls and lunge at his crumpled form afterwards. Maybe all in the same day.

But now she felt like she was kicking a puppy merely by looking directly in his eyes.

The door was locked. Not that it was exactly a deterrent in itself. But Russia and his Soviet circle could well do unspeakable things to her people if she defied his orders like this. The thought of her people suffering further caused her stomach to lurch.  
She stepped close, her hand twitched-

" _No_ ", Romania breathed out softly.

It was like a lightning bolt hit her then, a toned-down lightning bolt, but one nonetheless.

Hungary looked down at him; his eyes and his expression, tired as they were, could be capable of breaking a heart.  
"Elizaveta, please." 

"You heard Russia." She said, and it came out grim. Actually, she didn't know if he had been really able to hear what the Soviet man warned.

Serban struggled a bit with his bindings, past memories of Hungary charging at him with a sword and not rarely punishing him with a whip making his remaining anger boil over into fright. It was no good that they would have to attempt this at one of the worst times, when their people were suffering and they were both weak and choiceless. Russia hadn't even mentioned this idea to him. He didn't know what Ivan would do. But he didn't want this, either.

A hand was pressed to his chest, sliding down, hesitating all the while. She leaned over him and his heart began racing unhealthily, her lips opening and coming to nip at his neck at the same time her fingers wound somewhat around the bulge on his crotch. He made some startled gasping noise, then- "V-vă rog- Ungaria..."

A thick swallow. The hand kept on, still hesitating, yet stroking him into further hardness. Serban tried to hold his breath, to pull away; the bindings spoke against him.

Elizaveta took her lips to his throat, to his jaw, to his chin-

"Kérlek!"

The Hungarian from his lips, desperate, frightened, nearly made her heart sink.

A brief, brief silence.

"I beg you. Eli-"

The words were null as their mouths became one and the same.

 

 

She nearly cut her tongue on his fang first thing. It hurt, but she pressed on, trying to ignite a fire of lust to engulf them and have this over with. She channeled that pain into a noise that vibrated along both of them, and the way Romania's tongue didn't move to meet hers was worrisome.

There was no true stopping when they broke away, as Elizaveta made for his coat and started unbuttoning it. A hushed whisper, "Forgive me, Románia."

He seemed to struggle no more, resigned.

Every button being undone seemed to count for an eternity. Of course, with those bindings, she wouldn't be able to really take off any of his clothes. Russia could have well left him naked. Maybe the Russian was just that fixated on obedience; she'd have to be a good dog and do the work. 

More than that, she'd have to be a good _comrade_ and "take care" of Romania even if he himself wasn't too willing to agree. And he would have to agree.

When the whole of his torso was exposed, she tried not to revel in it, not like she did with the others; Austria, Prussia, Poland, Croatia. She, however, knew his body just as well.

His nipples first got the attention, and Hungary was masterful in their treatment, and even if he tried to keep it in, Romania wound up releasing some short noises that developed into a moan. 

Damn, she'd forgotten about his voice making noises like that. It was one of the main reasons she'd been fond of inflicting pain upon him for.

The mewls he produced as she started to stroke his sides were amazing stokers of her fire, and she- she'd be lying if she ever said that those sounds weren't making her wet. It was practical to say the least. 

Elizaveta let go of his sides, those same parts she'd before loved to whip just to hear him scream. One needn't be a lover to find out about those zones. She pushed her breasts against his chest, rubbed them a bit, her breathing only a second lighter than his, before beginning to unlace and unbutton her dress shirt. The laces of her bra were undone in a bolt-quick twist of fingers.

With an effortless pull and shrug, she revealed her breasts, feeling odd as she hardly ever, in centuries, revealed them so – willingly, she could put it – to him. The last time had been a teasing response to a tease, since her upper vest was almost falling apart anyway- but that ended up badly as his heart had started beating so quickly he nearly got a heart attack, and only later did she know that was the time Bulgaria was taken to Persia by the Ottoman Empire, so Romania had gone a staggering two years and a half without any sort of sexual gratification.

It was a time they didn't talk about- and yet another time they didn't talk about was one occurred even earlier, when they were young, and the reason Romania's eyes now averted with guilt, and the reason her left nipple looked like a mutant shredded version of what it once was. 

She eyed his fang.

It was also why she gently pushed, now, her right breast toward him, and he was surprised to have the nub guided into his mouth. Hungary pulled at his hair, and only after a prolonged time of hesitation did he begin to suck.

Very, very, very roughly.

She let out a shuddering, near-seething moan. Well, no, she didn't really have milk, but that's not what they were going for.  
It was only a small while before they heard a near-inaudible snapping sound, and Hungary had to control herself to make her groan not become a scream.

She felt Romania's lips start to tremble almost immediately, as the blood from her began to seep into his mouth, and his suckles became gentler. Elizaveta's pants filled the room whilst the pain rippled – she could barely feel it at all – through her breast, making her wanton. And she gave in, hands scrabbling to lower her pants and undergarments shamelessly, clambering atop him, and then starting to rub her own wet heat vigorously as he quite literally sucked her blood.

It was a moment of this, two minutes or perhaps more, and Hungary felt more than heard Romania moan- she properly opened her scrunched-up eyes to look at him lapping at her nipple, shivering all over and squirming quite a lot. She almost wanted to laugh, then; _Call me dirty blood now, that the same blood is exciting you so much_ – but she said nothing, looking down at his painful-looking bulge. 

She flinched in sympathy, as the binds at his thighs made the trousers even tighter than they already were, and unlaced the wet-patched garments and lowered both it and his underwear as far down as they would go before the bindings blocked the way. Romania's neglected arousal was throbbing needily, covered in pre-cum.

Ignoring the rich throb the sight gave to her nether regions, Hungary took a moment to look at it- most of the times she'd seen it before were because it was not that much of a rarity for Serban to call a truce in their long duels when he needed to take a leak, and Elizaveta would gleefully refuse him any privacy more than half these times. And it was not like Romania had any choice.

After giving the cock a few heartful strokes, for which Romania responded quite vocally, despite himself, Hungary started to grind her dripping heat against it, two heartbeats later positioning herself well enough to start encasing the Romanian inside her.

They were both soon reduced to choking gasps as Hungary buried herself, taking Serban nearly whole, never one to wait.  
Romania could barely move anything with the strong binds keeping him, so she was left to do all the work, not that she minded.

Further- W-well, fuck, great reminder on one of the reasons she'd refused to give him privacy those times. That penis was not worth any joke. Elizaveta had to work just the slightest more to be able to encase him until she was pretty much actually sitting on his lap.

It was really pretty ridiculous, pitiful, the whole situation, but she couldn't find it in her to give a fuck at the moment.

Hungary rode him hastily, leaning in to bite his collarbone, stroking his face gently just in case he still has any thought left. Any thought regarding where and when they were, and what they were doing, and what for, were just an invitation for breaking down.

He understandably came early, with a whimper that knotted at her lungs, and made the proccess of getting over the edge harder still for her. It was odd that she managed before he softened fully, seriously believing he might have whispered some incantation for that end. Her noise wound up sounding small and defeated, like his.

They didn't really move, breathing harshly, and didn't look, either. 

Hungary didn't want to look; Romania was crying.

She felt like crying, too.

It's still the XX century. It'd never stopped being.

 

-

 

The castle itself and its furniture may be old as Hell, but clearly Russia had left aside a few tools and things for their use which did not belong to this antiquity.

It was with non-rag cloths that Elizaveta cleaned herself up, and cleaned Serban as well in the same light. She re-donned her clothes, and fixed Romania's.

And it was when she began her attempts to untie him that she rasped out, breaking a lasting silence: "That bitch of a pawn."  
Romania was still brushing off the effects of the drug. Couldn't really manage a smile. "Russian dipshit."

Hungary worried whether her brutal attemps to get rid of the bindings, and succeeding some, were hurting him or not. "We're together in this, you know."

Nodding minutely, Serban started moving his limbs around very slowly, willing them back into life. Anybody who saw them at that moment could swear they'd been rotting on jail for a month and got out recently, judging by their expressions that mixed fatigue with desolation and how every single movement of theirs seemed to heave with some sort of resigned resentment.

"I hate you," Romania murmured in an out take of breath, head bobbing tiredly to the side. He may have been sitting on the same place for quite a while, but his limbs were in no position to get him up.

"I hate you too." Hungary retorted in a similarly even tone, kicking the floored bindings about.

"But I hate Russia more." 

Elizaveta blinked, then looked towards him. Her eyes moved to the door next; maybe it had been unlocked already. "I hate Russia more, as well."

She took Romania's hand to help him get up, and didn't let go of it as they went out to find Ivan. Neither did he.

Russia did get what he wanted, in the end of the story. Too bad he didn't notice he'd united both nations against him.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Translations:**  
>  Those names in Russia's notebook up there are the Russian names of some Eastern Europeans. Tsekhiya is supposed to be Czech.  
>  _Ungaria_ – Hungary in Romanian  
>  _Rumyniya_ – Romania in Russian  
>  _Vă rog_ – A pleading "please", in Romanian  
>  _Kérlek_ – A pleading "please", in Hungarian  
>  _Románia_ – 10 points for guessing that. It's in Hungarian by the way
> 
> I apologize if I got anything wrong.  
> Also note: I love Russia but I had to make him a nigh-brainwashed pawn to fill the request, as Hun and Rum imply.


End file.
